Moments Don't Last
by ladybug114
Summary: When a slightly deranged man discovers a way to cure the bite of a werewolf, he needs Scott. And the best way to gain Scott's cooperation? Take Stiles first. (completely written, will be 6 chapters)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Look, a new story! My first multi-chapter story, in fact! This story is complete (5 chapters, and then an epilogue) so I'll be posting chapters frequently. There will be some warnings in future chapters, so I'll say those when I post those chapters. In the meantime, enjoy the first chapter, and please review!**

...

"I can't believe we're doing this. Yet another wild goose chase for Derek."

"You know, Stiles, Derek is usually right about these things."

Stiles frowned at Scott's response. "Seriously? Whose side are you on?" He glanced at Scott as they trudged through the woods, and when no reply came, Stiles continued, "I mean seriously. You're the big bad true alpha werewolf, right? Why do you even listen to Derek?"

Scott gave him a long suffering sigh in response. "Because, as I have said about a hundred times before, Derek has more experience. I trust his judgment in... Werewolf stuff."

Stiles snorted. "Werewolf stuff?" he mocked, speeding up slightly to keep pace with Scott. "You're right in one thing, though. Derek always knows what's going on with supernatural stuff. How does he do that, anyway?"

Scott could tell, from years of experience, that Stiles would not be ending the conversation any time soon. He was on a roll now. So, with a quiet sigh, Scott sped up slightly, just enough to stay in front of Stiles, and prepared himself for a rant.

"It doesn't make sense, you know," the human was enthusiastically continuing. "How does Derek know about a wolf with no pack less than a week after he... Or she, I guess... Appears in Beacon Hills? What does Derek do all day, frolic through the woods sniffing trees?"

Scott grinned, but only because he knew Stiles couldn't see. He didn't want to encourage his hyperactive best friend, but the image of Derek in a tutu, running through a field and throwing flowers had just popped into his head... And that was enough to make anyone laugh.

"Do we know anything about the person... Sorry, werewolf... That we're looking for?"

Scott sighed and shook his head. "Not really. We don't think he's killed anyone or bitten anyone, so we're not planning on attacking him. Just finding out who he is and why he's here."

"Wait wait wait," Stiles said, his voice sounding slightly rushed. "We don't THINK he's killed or bitten anyone? Seriously?"

Scott shrugged. "Well, he hasn't killed anyone, for sure. We'd have heard if he did. Biting, though... That's a little harder to determine. Hopefully we'll find him, explain the situation, and he can be on his way."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt you think it'll be that simple."

Scott threw his arms up in the air and responded, "When are things ever simple in Beacon Hills?"

Stiles just shook his head, opening his mouth to reply, when Scott's phone rang. The two teens shared a significant glance, and then Scott pulled out his phone. "It's Derek," he mouthed to Stiles, before answering it. "What's up?" Scott asked, and then he listened intently for a moment. "Got it," he finally responded, "see you in a few."

Stiles was staring at Scott, and he grinned when the werewolf hung up. "Derek found him?" he asked, hopeful.

Scott nodded, grinning back. "Let's go see what this guy is about."

…

Less than two hours later, Scott and Stiles were walking through the woods again, this time toward home. After a moment of silence, Stiles asked hesitantly, "Did that seem… anticlimactic to you?"

Scott nodded in response, feeling a bit ill at ease. "Yeah," he answered, glancing at his best friend. "I didn't think he would just… leave."

"For a supposedly out of control alpha, he seemed pretty reasonable," Stiles agreed. "I mean, if we believe him, then he hasn't attacked anyone in the time that he's been here."

"Why should we though? Believe him, I mean."

Stiles just shrugged. "Well, if he actually does leave, that would be a pretty good indication that he can be trusted." Suddenly, the human grinned. "After all, not all werewolves are evil, right buddy?" he said, shoving Scott with his shoulder.

Scott just laughed, and the two of them finished the walk home in companionable silence.

…

For a week, everything was back to normal. It seemed that the alpha had kept to his word, and had left Beacon Hills alone. There were no reports of suspicious deaths or animal attacks, nothing to signify that any supernatural danger had taken hold. For a moment, everything was peaceful.

But everyone knows that moments don't last long.

…

It was a Friday night, and the Sheriff was working late. So Stiles cooked himself some spaghetti, making sure to save some so his dad could eat whenever he got home. Then he called Scott.

The phone rang twice before his best friend answered. "Stiles!" Scott said, and Stiles grinned. "What's up?"

"Well," Stiles answered, "I'm home alone tonight, so I was wondering if you wanted to come over?"

There was a hesitation on the other line, and then Scott answered, "Dude, I'm sorry, but I'm actually at Kira's place right now."

Stiles' face fell, but he tried to keep his voice bright. "Oh," he responded easily, "Yeah, that's fine. Um, maybe another time?"

"Yeah, definitely," Scott answered hastily. "I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Stiles answered quietly, but Scott had already hung up. The human sighed, turning his phone off and dropping it onto his bed. He was in for a long, boring night.

After about an hour of playing video games by himself, Stiles decided that would be easier to just go to bed, even if it was only ten o'clock. If he stayed up, he would just be reminded of how bored he really was.

So he went to bed, forgetting that his phone was still turned off, and not realizing that it had fallen onto the floor beside his bed.

…

When Stiles woke up again, it was still dark out. He rolled over, looking at the clock, and saw that it was only one o'clock in the morning.

"Great," he muttered to himself, realizing that he had only slept for three hours. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Dad?" he asked, sitting up slightly. It wouldn't be the first time his dad had come home from work after midnight.

The footsteps paused, but no answer came. Stiles frowned, peering into the darkness uncertainly. His eyes hadn't adjusted yet, and the house was dark, so he couldn't see much in his room or the hallway. After a moment, just as he was starting to think he had imagined the footsteps, Stiles heard them start up again. Stiles reached for his baseball bat, which was usually next to his bed, and then cursed quietly when he realized that he had left it downstairs after accidentally attacking Scott the week before.

The footsteps were still coming closer, and Stiles had no way to defend himself.

He reached for his phone, which was usually sitting nearby, and then remembered that he had turned it off the night before. Stiles pulled himself out of bed, stumbling slightly in his haste, and grabbed his phone from its position on the floor. His heart was pounding, the footsteps had just about reached his door, and the phone wasn't turning on. "Come on, come on," he muttered to himself, willing the device to turn on.

The screen finally lit up, just as Stiles felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and everything went black.

…

When Stiles woke up, the first thing he was aware of was pain. A splitting pain in his skull, the feeling that hundreds of hammers were smashing into his head at the same time. Not a very pleasant thing to wake up to.

The second thing he noticed was that he couldn't move. And for a teenager with ADHD, that was a problem. Wiggling slightly, Stiles was able to figure out exactly why he couldn't move. His arms were stuck behind him, wrapped in what felt like coarse rope. His legs were held by the same material.

He was trapped.

He also couldn't see anything. At first, Stiles thought that it was just because the room was dark, but after a moment of waiting for his eyes to adjust, he knew that wasn't true. There was some sort of cloth over his eyes, blocking any view he might have of where he was.

And that was the main problem—Stiles had no idea what had happened, or where he could possibly be. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night, he remembered hearing footsteps, he remembered trying to turn his phone on… but that was it. He had no idea who had taken him, or how long ago that had been, or where he was.

And now he was starting to panic.

Because Stiles had woken up in a strange place, unable to move, once before. And that was a memory he had tried hard to forget.

But it was coming back to him now.

…

 _It was cold, very cold, when Stiles had woken up then. And he couldn't move. His leg was trapped, and it HURT. It was dark, too, and getting colder. Too cold._

 _But his phone, miraculously, was in his pocket. So Stiles called the one person that he could trust, without a doubt, to find him._

 _Scott._

 _And Stiles was terrified, and in pain, but he tried to hide it when he talked to his best friend._

 _Until he heard movement, and knew he wasn't alone._

 _And then he had seen a form appear in the darkness, speaking another language, and then switching to English, and then asking him riddles, and then..._

…

With a massive struggle, Stiles pulled himself out of the memory. This was NOT the Nogitsune. It couldn't be, because they had defeated it. They had killed it. Scott had killed it.

But Stiles was no closer to figuring out what was actually happening to him. One thing he was certain of—nothing good was going to happen.

He wracked his brain for what felt like hours, trying to figure out who would have any desire to kidnap him. But as he thought, his headache just got worse and worse, and thinking became harder to do. Stiles' thoughts became even more scattered than normal, and he found that he couldn't focus on one idea for longer than a few seconds.

Despite the uncomfortable chair he was apparently tied to, Stiles felt himself starting to relax, and everything slowly slipped away.

…

Scott McCall felt like a terrible friend. He knew, of course, that it was perfectly reasonable to spend time with your girlfriend, but still. Not only had he chosen not to spend time with Stiles, he had totally blown him off in their brief phone conversation.

And now he felt like an ass.

It was ten o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, and Scott was home alone, so he decided to call Stiles and try to make up for it. He dialed quickly, the number memorized, and then waited.

After ringing five times, it went to voicemail.

Scott frowned, but decided to leave a message. "Hey, Stiles," he said, and then hesitated. What did he want to say? "Look, I'm really sorry about last night… Maybe we could hang out today? Call me back when you get this." After thinking for a moment, Scott decided to call the Stilinski house too. Stiles was probably sleeping or something, but the sheriff would probably be home.

The phone only rang twice this time, and then was answered by the sheriff. "Scott?" he asked, sounding surprised.

Scott smiled. "Hey, sheriff. I just called Stiles' cell, and he didn't answer, so I was just checking in… He sleeping or something?"

There was a hesitation on the other line, and Scott, without reason, felt like there was a vice grip squeezing his chest. Something was wrong.

Sure enough, the sheriff's voice was quiet and serious as he finally answered, "Scott, Stiles isn't home. I got home from the office around two, and his room was empty, so I just… I figured he was with you."

Scott swallowed, heart pounding. He had no idea what this meant, but he knew it wasn't good at all. "No," he answered, "I spent the night with Kira last night. Stiles called me around ten, asking me to come over, but I told him I couldn't." Oh god, what if something had happened? What if the last thing he ever did with Stiles was hang up on him? "Want me to come over and see if I can sense anything?" Scott asked, keeping his own fears quiet.

"Yeah," the sheriff answered, sounding flustered and worried. "Yeah, that would be good." Scott didn't bother answering. He just hung up the phone, stuck it in his pocket, and sprinted outside.

He had a best friend to find.

…

Scott felt sick. He and the sheriff had scoured every inch of Stiles' room, but all they had found was Stiles' phone, which was lying haphazardly on the floor next to his bed, and his baseball bat, which was lying in the hallway. Scott had smelled antiseptic on the bat, and the sheriff, looking agonized, had told him what that probably meant.

Someone had used Stiles' own baseball bat to knock him out, and then had cleaned away the evidence.

So they didn't have any clues, just a cleaned off bat and a faint scent of fear.

And blood, but Scott decided not to mention that to the sheriff.

Scott had left the house after that, feeling nauseated and desperate for air. Now he was just pacing the Stilinski's yard, trying to put his thoughts in order. Who would want to kidnap Stiles? It didn't make any sense. Scott had always expected that he would be taken someday, being a true alpha and everything, but Stiles?

Suddenly, it hit him.

Of course no one would want to kidnap Stiles just to have Stiles. This had to be about him. Scott McCall, the true alpha. No one would dare to go after him, but if they knew anything about him, they would know about his friends too.

Scott McCall, the stupid werewolf who's friends with a human.

Suddenly, Scott heard his phone ring. He flinched, pulled abruptly from his thoughts, but grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

 _ **Blocked Number**_

Scott frowned, but answered the phone anyway. "Hello?" he asked, hesitant.

"Scott McCall," responded a voice, sounding calm and cold.

Scott froze, swallowing tightly. "Who is this?" he demanded.

The voice chuckled. "My name is Blake, but that's not really the important thing here, is it? I'm assuming you've noticed by now that something is missing."

Scott's hand tightened on his phone in anger, and he struggled to control himself. "Where's Stiles?" he growled.

Blake laughed again. "Sleeping, right now," he responded, sounding completely casual about the whole situation. But when he continued, his voice was hard. "I recommend you follow my instructions exactly, Scott, or… Well. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Scott took a breath, trying to focus his attention on Blake and what he was saying. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, trying to make his tone as harsh as Blake's. He needed this guy to understand that he was serious.

"It's very simple, actually. Do you know the abandoned house at the end of Lake Street?"

"Yes."

"Tomorrow at three, I will be in the basement of that house. Meet me there, and bring no one with you. I don't want you telling anyone about this conversation—not the sheriff, not your mother, not your pathetic little pack. If you tell anyone, I will know about it."

With that, the line disconnected. Scott lowered his phone to his side, hands trembling. The short phone call was enough for him to know that this guy Blake was completely insane. And knowing that he had Stiles… Scott shuddered.

He needed to find out what Blake wanted, and then he needed to get Stiles back. Whatever the cost.

...

 **A/N: Also check out my AO3 profile (ladybug114) for some fics that aren't posted here!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's chapter 2! Thanks to everyone who has already responded to this story, either by liking or following or reviewing, it means a lot to me!**

Stiles only realized that he had lost consciousness when he opened his eyes again. He was pretty sure he had a concussion, as his head was still pounding. Everything about his situation was still the same—he was tied to a chair, with a blindfold over his eyes.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps. Stiles stiffened in the chair, straining his ears. The footsteps continued at a steady pace for twelve steps, and then stopped. Then there was the sound of a light being switched on, and Stiles flinched.

"So, you are awake," said a voice, mockingly.

"Who- who are you? What's going on?" Stiles asked, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

The footsteps started up again, bringing the owner of the voice closer to where Stiles was being held. Before he had time to prepare himself, the blindfold was pulled off, and Stiles flinched again as the bright lights burned his eyes. He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds, trying to adjust to the light, and then finally opened them, seeing his captor for the first time.

The man standing in front of him looked to be in his mid-20s, with messy blonde hair and a scruffy beard. He was big, but not overly so. His arms were thick and muscled, making him look like a boxer. But what terrified Stiles most were his eyes. They were dark brown, and they showed no emotion.

Growing up with the sheriff as his dad, Stiles had seen a lot of crimes, a lot of criminals, and he had seen even more after getting sucked into the world of the supernatural. And if he had learned one thing, it was that eyes could tell you a lot. He had seen criminals who were clearly crazy, and their eyes glinted and were always moving. He had seen criminals who did things out of anger, and their eyes blazed with a primal fury. But the worst criminals, the men and women who committed the worst crimes, their eyes showed nothing.

And he was looking into eyes like that now.

The man smiled, and Stiles shivered. "Stay away from me," the teenager said, back pressed as far back into his chair as it would go. "I don't know who you are or what you want, but I don't have anything for you. My dad's the sheriff, okay? This was a mistake. Just let me go."

Stiles had tried to make his voice sound intimidating, but the man just laughed. "You're wrong in one thing, Stiles," he said, grinning. "You actually have something I want very much."

Stiles swallowed, wondering how the man knew his name. "What do you want?" he asked, and his voice shook.

"Scott," the man answered, as if the response was obvious.

"Scott?" Stiles repeated, sounding weak even to his own ears. "What do you need him for? Who are you?" He was getting desperate, and he knew it. If this guy wanted to hurt Scott, and was going to use him to do it… that was not okay.

The man just laughed. "My name is Blake, not that it will matter to you. And I need Scott because he can help me with a… problem I've been having."

Stiles stared at the man—Blake—blankly for a moment, not really getting it. He was still pressed into the chair, now terrified that Blake was crazy.

Blake sighed at the expression on Stiles' face. "I would ask you some questions, but I doubt you'd answer them… How about this. I'll tell you what I know, and you correct me if any of the information is wrong. Sound good?" he asked with an easy smile, as if everything he was doing was just a fun game to play.

Stiles swallowed, but nodded, knowing that cooperation was probably his best—and only—option.

"Good," Blake responded, pulling a stool from a corner of the room and sitting comfortably on it. "Let's start from the beginning then. Obviously, your friend Scott is a werewolf. So is Derek Hale. Malia is a shifter of some sort, I never quite figured out what exactly, Kira is some sort of kitsune, and Lydia is a banshee." He looked Stiles right in the eye, his expression coolly amused. "Sound right so far?"

Stiles could only stare in shock as his blood ran cold. How did Blake know so much about his friends? The only explanation was that he had been watching them, following them, for a long time. How he had escaped being detected by Scott and Derek, Stiles didn't even want to know.

Caught in his own dark thoughts, Stiles didn't even realize that he hadn't given Blake an answer. Until he suddenly stepped forward, all traces of amusement wiped from his face. Before Stiles had time to process what was going on, Blake had pulled a switchblade from somewhere and had the point held directly in front of Stiles' left eye.

"I asked you a question," Blake growled, his face dark.

Stiles swallowed, frozen in fear. If Blake's hand shook, or if Stiles moved his head at all, the blade would likely pierce his eye.

After a moment, in which Stiles didn't even dare to breathe, Blake drew the switchblade back and settled back onto his stool. "I need you to understand the situation here, Stiles," Blake stated easily, the intensity from his earlier expression gone. "There is nothing you can do. Scott will come, and he will do what I want, or you will die. It's quite simple, really."

Stiles took a deep breath. He was still terrified, especially from that glimpse into what Blake was willing to do, but he needed to understand what was really going on. "Okay, fine. I get it. I cooperate, and Scott cooperates, and you don't go all evil-villain and kill me." Blake was smirking, but he didn't look like he was going to get into any stabbing, so Stiles ploughed on. "You obviously know a lot about us, which is freaky, but whatever. I just have one question—what do you need Scott for?"

"Well, if my information is correct, Scott is not just a werewolf. He's a true alpha." Blake raised an eyebrow at Stiles and asked, "Is that true?"

Even though Stiles didn't want to give up information on Scott, he nodded, figuring that if Blake already knew this much, it wouldn't hurt to nod. Plus, he really didn't want to lose an eye.

Blake grinned. "Glad you decided to cooperate, Stiles. But yes, there is a specific reason that I need a true alpha at the moment. It's a bit of a long story, so make yourself comfortable."

Stiles just raised an eyebrow, looking the ropes around his arms and legs, but finally just shrugged and figured that it wouldn't hurt to learn why Blake needed Scott so badly.

...

 _ **Two Months Earlier**_

"Come on, Blake! Just because you're ten years older than me doesn't mean that you can't have fun!"

"Eleven, actually," Blake responded with a grin, and the girl standing next to him laughed.

"Seriously though," she responded after a moment, "let's go explore. The woods are gorgeous this time of year!"

Blake rolled his eyes but finally smiled and said, "Alright. Let's go explore."

An hour later, and Blake was starting to regret his decision to follow his sister into the woods. "Hey, Izzy," he said, a few paces behind her, "maybe we should head back."

"Oh come on, Blake," she responded, turning around with a smirk. "When did you get so lame? We used to have so much fun together!"

Blake just shook his head. "Yeah, when you were nine and I was twenty. But that was eight years ago, and your idea of fun has changed a bit over the years."

"Come on," she begged, "just a little farther. We'll be back home before it gets dark, I promise."

Blake sighed. He had never been able to resist his little sister's charms. "Alright," he agreed, "just a little farther."

'Just a little farther,' Blake soon realized, meant walking for another hour and watching the sun sink below the horizon. His sister kept getting farther ahead of him, and he was starting to worry. "Izzy!" he shouted, looking around the darkening woods. "Izzy! We gotta head back!"

There was a rustling in the bushes to his left, and Blake whipped around. "Izzy? That you?" he said, squinting into the darkness. "Come on, no more games. Time to go home."

The rustling started again, this time moving away from him. Blake relaxed, guessing that it was a bunny or something, when the air was pierced with a loud scream.

"ISABEL!" Blake shouted, running in the direction of the scream. "ISABEL!"

…

Stiles stared at Blake, trembling slightly, as the man finished his story. He already had a pretty good idea of what had happened to Blake's sister, remembering the rogue alpha they had dealt with around the same time.

"When I found her," Blake continued, "she was bleeding. There was a bite mark on her arm, like an animal had attacked her. I brought her home, treated the wound myself." He turned to face Stiles, staring at him as if the incident was his fault. "The next day, the bite had disappeared."

Stiles swallowed. Blake was showing more emotion now than he had in their entire time together. "So… she's okay?" he asked, cautious.

Blake practically growled, moving closer, and Stiles flinched back. "No, she's not okay!" Blake shouted, moving so he was almost directly in front of Stiles' face. "Two weeks later was the full moon. She tried to kill me! I had to lock her up!" Blake was quickly losing control, but there was nothing Stiles could do. "Do you know what that's like?!" Blake was practically screaming now.

"Yes," Stiles answered, quietly, remembering those first few full moons with Scott.

That seemed to snap Blake out of his anger, and he took a step back, almost chuckling. "Yes," he said, sitting back on his stool, "I suppose you would. Scott tried to kill you a couple times, didn't he?"

Stiles just nodded, still wary. Blake's emotions, he had learned, could change at any time.

"Well, then you understand," Blake continued, leaning forward suddenly. "I need to save her."

"Okay," Stiles answered, pressed against the back of the chair again, "I get that. But why do you need Scott? There's no cure for… werewolf-ism."

Blake chuckled, leaning back, and Stiles allowed himself to relax a little. "I'm guessing you and Scott did some research after you learned what had happened to him?" Blake asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, "mostly me. I didn't find anything."

"Well then you didn't look deep enough," Blake responded, eyes gleaming, and Stiles decided that he didn't want to know what Blake had found. But Blake was lost in his own thoughts now, not paying Stiles any attention, and he explained what he had found while Stiles could only watch and listen in growing fear and horror.

Scott was not allowed to participate in Blake's plan. Stiles would have to make sure of that.

…

Scott felt sick. After the call from Blake, he had returned to the Stilinski house, told the sheriff to call him with any updates, and then sprinted home, fighting to stay calm.

Someone had taken Stiles. To get to him.

Scott had already decided that he would do whatever he needed to do to get Stiles back. If that meant going to Blake by himself, fine. If that meant getting injured himself, fine. Failure was not an option. And if Stiles didn't want Scott to give himself up, well, he'd get over it. Once they were both back home, safe.

But for now, there was nothing Scott could do. So he paced around his empty house, scenarios running through his head of what could be happening to Stiles, each worse than the last.

Stiles chained to a pole, slumped on the ground, bleeding from his head.

Stiles tied to a chair, eyes closed, covered in cuts and bruises.

Stiles in a dark basement, lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

Scott physically shook himself, trying to get rid of the images. He could do this. Stiles was fine. Blake wouldn't hurt Stiles—he would know that Scott wouldn't cooperate if Stiles was in serious danger. As long as Scott cooperated, Stiles would be fine.

Stiles had to be fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Time to learn what Blake's plan for Scott is! Tiny bit of violence in this chapter, but not really. Feel free to send me a PM in you're concerned.**

After explaining his plan, Blake had sat back, seemingly lost in thought. Stiles didn't dare break the silence, knowing that Blake could go mad and attack him again. So for almost an hour, Stiles sat, staring at the man who had captured him and intended to hurt Scott.

Finally, Blake shook himself out of whatever was on his mind, grinning at Stiles. "Scott will be here tomorrow afternoon," he said calmly, "and I don't need anything from you until then." He stood up from the stool, grabbing the cloth that had been wrapped around Stiles' eyes earlier, and began moving closer to him.

Stiles panicked. He could not stay down here in complete darkness again. "Please," he said, eyes wide, "please, don't put it on me. I've seen everything I could have already, and obviously I'm not going anywhere, so I don't need the blindfold. Please."

Blake laughed, and Stiles flinched at the sound. "Alright," he said, dropping the cloth onto the floor, "no blindfold. And if you stay quiet down here, I'll bring you some water. Deal?"

Stiles nodded, realizing how dry his mouth had gotten. His stomach was growling too, but he was too terrified to mention food. Surviving without food for multiple days was easy, but without water, he would die.

With a smile, Blake started to leave the room. When he had walked around Stiles to where Stiles guessed the staircase was, he called out brightly, "See you in the morning!" Then there were more footsteps, the sound of a door opening, and the door slammed shut.

Stiles was alone.

"Okay Stiles," he muttered to himself, "you gotta get out of here. It's just rope. Easy."

He shifted for a moment, trying to figure out how tight the ropes around his hands were. He had read somewhere that if there was just a little slack in the rope, it would be easy to escape. But apparently Blake was smart, and the ropes were tight. No slack.

Stiles pulled on them for a few minutes anyway, and he felt the coarse material rubbing the skin on his wrists. He tugged harder, hoping to find any weakness at all, but there was nothing. He couldn't maneuver his fingers to even attempt untying the knots, and tugging was just going to make his wrists bleed.

There was absolutely nothing he could do to escape, and Stiles knew without a doubt that Scott would come.

For the first time since he had woken in the basement, Stiles lost hope.

…

Scott kept glancing at the clock nervously, even though it was only one o'clock. Still two hours until he had to meet Blake.

Two hours until he found out if Stiles was okay.

He hadn't slept at all the night before, kept up with nightmares, each worse than the last. Even awake, the images of Stiles in trouble wouldn't leave him alone. Scott wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was terrified. He didn't know how he could survive if Stiles…

"Stop that," Scott said to himself, running his fingers through his hair. "Stiles will be fine. You'll save him."

He had considered calling Derek, but Blake's words convinced him not to. If the man knew his name, knew Stiles, knew the rest of the pack, he would probably find out if Scott told anyone. And if that happened, Scott knew what would happen to Stiles.

Glancing at the clock again, Scott saw that it was now a little past two. The house Blake had described was on the other end of town, so if Scott ran at a normal human speed he would get there right on time.

"Alright Scott," he muttered, "Time to save your idiotic friend."

…

Stiles woke up slowly, again unaware that he had even fallen asleep. His mouth and throat were dry, his stomach ached with hunger, and his head was pounding again. Blinking, trying to wake up more fully, Stiles took a moment to get his bearings. There were no windows in the basement, but the light was still on from the night before. He had no idea what time it was. Blake had said that Scott would be coming in the afternoon, but Stiles had no way of knowing if it was still morning.

Suddenly, he heard the door open.

Stiles' breath caught in his throat, and he knew that Blake would be coming down the stairs. Sure enough, he heard footsteps a moment later.

"Wake up, Stiles!" Blake said brightly, the footsteps coming closer and closer to Stiles' chair.

Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder and couldn't hold in a gasp as Blake quickly turned the chair to face him and the staircase.

Blake was grinning, and he was holding a bottle of water. He held up the bottle and said sweetly, "I promised you water."

Stiles blinked, his throat feeling even drier at the possibility of water.

Blake laughed, unscrewing the top of the bottle. "Open up," he said, and when Stiles did, he slowly poured some of the water into his mouth.

Stiles was surprised that Blake poured the water so slowly, making it easy for him to get a good drink. He had been expecting to end up with water all over him, but only a little dribbled down his chin.

When the bottle was half empty, Blake screwed the cap back on and put the bottle on the floor. "Now," he said, grabbing the stool he had used the previous day, "Let's get down to business. Scott will be here in an hour. The two of us are going to talk. You are going to stay silent. Simple. Can you do that?"

Stiles swallowed, but nodded. He would agree with Blake, because he knew what would happen if he didn't, but secretly he knew that he wouldn't be able to stay quiet. If Scott agreed with what Blake wanted, Stiles would need to say something. Because he could not let anything happen to Scott.

Blake smiled, unaware of what Stiles was thinking. "Good," he said, dragging the stool so that he was sitting beside Stiles. "Now we wait."

…

They waited in silence for almost an hour, when Stiles finally heard a door open upstairs.

Blake smiled. "Ah, right on time." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his switchblade, looking at Stiles with sympathy. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, "Just a precaution."

The knife was pressed against his throat, and Stiles froze. He didn't think Blake would kill him, but he didn't want it to happen accidentally. He heard footsteps above him, moving toward the staircase, and Stiles shut his eyes for a moment in defeat. That had to be Scott.

Taking a breath, making sure his head didn't move too much, Stiles forced his eyes open.

…

Scott walked down the stairs to the basement, making sure to follow Blake's instructions exactly. But when he reached the bottom of the steps, he froze. In front of him was a sight that he never wanted to see again: Stiles tied to a chair, a knife held against his throat.

"Come on in, Scott," Blake said casually. "Don't be shy."

Scott began trembling slightly. How was Blake so calm? How could he talk like this was a normal conversation while holding Stiles literally inches from death?

Stiles seemed to notice Scott's expression, and he smiled. Scott knew that his friend was trying to reassure him, but it didn't work. The werewolf could smell fear in the room, obviously coming from the human with a knife to his throat.

Stupid werewolf powers.

"Hey there buddy," Stiles said weakly, obviously struggling to keep his voice from shaking. "Long time no see."

"Quiet!" Blake snarled, pushing the knife a little harder on Stiles' throat, drawing a small bead of bright red blood.

"Leave him alone!" Scott shouted desperately. "You told me you wouldn't hurt him!"

"Yes, and he said he wouldn't talk," Blake responded with a shrug, as if the whole situation was only mildly inconvenient. "If you two cooperate, then I won't have to touch him again."

Scott could feel his control slipping, but he struggled to push the wolf down. What was wrong with him? It wasn't even close to the full moon.

"So what do you want?" Scott finally asked, his teeth clenched.

"A couple weeks ago," Blake began, "my little sister Isabel was going for a walk when she got attacked. By a werewolf." He looked pointedly at Scott, and then continued, "The wolf bit her and, 4 days later, on the full moon, she transformed. My sweet little sister was trying to rip my throat out."

Scott winced in sympathy. He knew personally how easily the bite could destroy your personality, especially in the first full moon. He himself has tried to kill Stiles, of all people, shortly after being bitten.

Speaking of Stiles... He needed to focus. Blake was continuing his story.

"I managed to restrain her for the rest of the night, but at that point I had figured out what was happening to her." Blake paused, showing more emotion than Scott had seen before. "I did some research, trying to figure out if there was anything to do for her." His eyes hardened, and he looked right at Scott as he finished, "I found something. But I need you."

"You found a way to cure the bite of a werewolf?" Scott exclaimed, incredulous.

Blake nodded. "Stiles told me the two of you searched for one when you got bitten, right?" He grinned, but the expression was almost feral. "I probably searched a little deeper than you. I found a certain ritual..."

"Don't listen to him Scott!" Stiles suddenly shouted, looking and sounding frantic.

"I told you to be quiet." Blake growled, turning his attention away from Scott to face the trembling human. In a movement so quick Scott didn't even have time to process it, Blake swung at Stiles' face with a powerful right hook.

His fist connected with a dull smack, and Scott saw red.

…

Stiles had been punched in the face before, but not like this. Blake's punch was so powerful that Stiles blacked out for a few seconds, falling sideways in the chair. When he finally blinked his eyes open, the knife was pressed against his throat again, and Blake was saying something.

"-any closer. I'll kill him if you move."

Stiles blinked again, trying to focus. What was Blake saying? Who wasn't allowed to move?

"Back up, Scott. Back up or I'll kill him."

Scott. Blake was talking to Scott. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them, his vision had finally cleared. Stiles almost gasped at the sight in front of him. Scott was standing there, glaring at Blake, and he was transformed. His eyes were glowing bright red, he was baring his fangs, and his claws were extended.

"Blake," Stiles said, voice wavering, "Blake, step away from me."

Blake glanced at him, eyes hard, and didn't move the knife. "If I do that, he'll kill me."

"No he won't," Stiles said, hoping that he was right. "I can calm him down, but only if you put away the knife and step away. Please. He wouldn't want to kill you, I promise."

Blake looked at Stiles for a moment, and then at Scott, who was growling quietly, and then sighed. "Fine. But I will pull the knife out again if you try any tricks." With that, he removed the knife and took a single step to the left of Stiles.

Scott's eyes stayed on Blake as he moved away. "Scott," Stiles said, his voice more confident than he felt, "Scott, look at me. I'm okay, see? He's not hurting me."

Slowly, Scott turned his bright red gaze away from Blake and toward Stiles.

"Scott, please," Stiles continued, getting desperate. "Scott, you need to calm down. I know you don't want to hurt anyone. You're okay. I'm okay. Just calm. Down."

Scott's stance started to relax. The claws disappeared into his fingers, turning back into normal fingernails. The fangs slowly receded. Within a minute, Scott looked like Scott again… Except for his eyes. Those still glowed red.

"Come on, Scott," Stiles said, smiling a little. "Let me see those gorgeous brown eyes of yours."

Scott smiled, just a little, and the red faded back to brown. "Stiles," he said, voice soft, "Stiles, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get out of control like that. I just…"

"It's okay," Stiles responded, cutting him off. "I'm fine."

"Wow," said Blake, cutting into the moment and making Stiles flinch, "what a touching moment. Well done, Stiles. I must admit that I'm quite impressed with you." Taking a step toward Stiles' chair, he pulled out the blade again and spun it casually in his fingers. "However, I'm afraid that I must bring this lovely conversation between friends to a close. Now Scott," he continued, once again pressing the blade against Stiles' throat, "I believe we were having a conversation."

Stiles made eye contact with Scott, trying to silently plead with him to leave. But Scott's eyes were hard and determined, and Stiles knew that it was hopeless.

"Don't hurt Stiles," Scott said, sounding completely in control of the situation. "If you promise not to hurt him, I'll do whatever you want."

"Scott," Stiles said before he could help himself, "don't."

The knife was again pressed harder against his throat, and Stiles froze. "Quiet," Blake hissed, right in his ear, and Stiles closed his eyes, shrinking away from the voice.

"Blake," Scott said, his voice harsh. "I said I would do what you want if you leave him alone."

Stiles felt the knife slowly leave his throat, and he opened his eyes, swallowing with fear. He knew that Scott was going to do what Blake wanted, and he had a feeling that even if Blake's plan didn't kill Scott, the man would kill both of them anyway.

"Alright Scott," Blake said with a cold smile, stepping away from Stiles, "We'll do this your way. Now, as I was saying before we were interrupted, I found a ritual that can cure the bite of a werewolf. Most of the ingredients were quite simple and a little stereotypical, if you ask me." He grinned. "Candles, some herbs, things like that. But the most important ingredient is something a little bit more difficult to obtain."

Stiles shut his eyes again, knowing what Blake was going to say next. It terrified him, what Scott would have to do, but he knew that his best friend would do it. Scott, Stiles knew, would do anything to make sure that everyone was okay.

Except for himself.

"True alphas are rare," Blake continued, cutting into Stiles' thoughts. "And they have a lot of power. Apparently, so does their blood." Blake grinned at Scott, and Stiles shivered. He hated that smile.

"Their... Blood?" Scott asked, sounding less confident now.

Blake laughed again. "Yes, their blood. One gallon of it, in fact."

Scott froze, and Stiles knew what he was thinking. If Scott lost a gallon of blood, he would die. His healing powers couldn't create new blood, especially not a gallon of it.

"I..." Scott hesitated, looking Stiles in the eye.

"It's a hard decision, isn't it?" Blake asked, teasingly. "Your life, or his?"

Scott licked his lips, looking between Stiles and Blake. "Werewolves can heal, you know," he said finally, but his voice was still weak.

"Sure, their wounds can. But they can't create new blood any faster than normal humans can," Blake responded immediately.

"I..." Scott said again, looking agonized.

Blake smiled at him. "How about this. I'll let you think about it. Go home, talk to Derek if you want. Come back here in 24 hours with your answer. Sound good?"

In Stiles' opinion, that definitely did not sound good. He knew that Scott would eventually give himself up, and the deal Blake was trying to make would just leave Stiles trapped for 24 more hours. He didn't think he could handle that.

Scott looked at Stiles, maybe trying to signal something, but Stiles just shrugged. He didn't know what Scott was trying to tell him, but he knew what his best friend was going to tell Blake.

"Okay," Scott said finally, "I'll talk to Derek."

Blake smiled and answered, "Good. I'm glad we've come to an agreement. Now, you can be on your way, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Scott glanced at Stiles again, seemingly reluctant to leave. "Stiles..." he said, but Blake cut him off.

"Goodbye, Scott," he said harshly, the smile gone.

Scott swallowed, nodded, and turned around.

And Stiles watched his best friend walk away.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Warning for torture in this chapter. Nothing especially graphic, but it is there. Again, send me a PM if you're concerned!**

Blake watched Scott climb up the stairs, and as soon as he was gone, the man turned to Stiles with a smirk on his face. With no warning, he drove his fist into Stiles' stomach.

Stiles let out a gasp, curling into himself at the contact. "Why the hell did you do that?" he exclaimed, staring up at Blake in shock.

Blake just pulled his fist back and punched Stiles again in the stomach, and then again, and then again. Stiles was gasping for breath, and the smile had slipped from Blake's face. "Wait, please," Stiles gasped, "Why are you doing this?

"Come on, Stiles," Blake spat in response, "I thought you were the smart one. You're the incentive in this deal. And I don't know about you, but I don't think Scott looked convinced."

Stiles shook his head frantically. "No, trust me, he was convinced. I promise."

Blake just laughed and punched him in the face.

Stiles' head snapped to the side at the force of the contact, and he saw stars for a moment. When he was able to orient himself, Blake was smiling at him. "Look," Stiles said, desperate, "I'm only 17. Isn't that how old your sister is?"

When Blake's smile turned into a glare, Stiles realized that he might have made a mistake. "Don't talk about her," Blake growled, and there was no longer any humor in his words. "I need to do this to make sure Scott cooperates," he added, "but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it too."

Blake drew his arm back. "No no no, please," Stiles protested, but Blake didn't listen.

His fist connected with Stiles' face again, and then again, and then his stomach, and then his arms, and then his face…

Stiles could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, and after an especially hard hit to the face, he welcomed the darkness gladly.

…

After leaving the house, Scott ran home, trying desperately to stay in control. He couldn't believe that he had almost completely wolfed out. He knew that he never wanted to see Stiles hurt, but he honestly didn't think that it would affect him this badly.

Scott was grateful that Blake had allowed him to talk to Derek, and he would, but he didn't think he was prepared to talk about what he had seen.

Not yet.

So Scott went home, hands clenched the entire way, the image of Blake punching Stiles never leaving his mind.

It was only six o'clock, but Scott was completely worn out. He had 24 hours until he had to go back to Blake and give him an answer. As soon as he got home, Scott collapsed into bed. "I'll talk to Derek in the morning," he mumbled to himself, and then he was out.

…

Stiles groaned, slowly opening his eyes. His body ached all over from Blake using him as a punching bag earlier, but he was okay. Nothing was broken; he was just covered in bruises. It hurt like a bitch, but he would be fine.

But then he heard the door open, and as Blake stomped down the stairs, Stiles realized that he might have spoken too soon.

The man was obviously pissed. He was walking with purpose and confidence, and his face was dark. His hair was messy, his clothes were wrinkled, and it looked like he hadn't slept in days.

And he was holding his switchblade.

Stiles swallowed in fear as Blake walked straight toward him, holding the blade like he was going to use it, not just threaten with it.

"Isabel is dead," Blake growled when he arrived in front of Stiles.

The blood drained from Stiles' face. He knew that Blake's sister was the only thing keeping him from going crazy, and if she was dead… "How?" Stiles asked, voice weak with fear.

"She hung herself, left a note for me saying that she couldn't be a monster." Blake leaned in closer and shouted, "It's your fault! If Scott had cooperated I could have saved her! It's _your fault_!"

On the last word, Blake took his switchblade and stabbed it into Stiles' bicep, pulling it out again in the same motion.

Stiles was so shocked, he couldn't even scream. He could just stare at his own arm, where blood was dripping down toward his elbow. He looked back up at Blake, eyes wide, and was terrified to see that the man was grinning now.

"You deserve this," Blake said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You killed my sister."

"Please," Stiles begged, and now the shock was wearing off and god, his arm hurt, "Please, you don't have to do this."

In response, Blake dragged the blade down Stiles' other arm, making a long, shallow cut from his elbow to his wrist.

Stiles winced, but he kept himself from crying out. He refused to give Blake the satisfaction.

The smile slipped off Blake's face at the lack of response, and Stiles started to worry that he had made a mistake. Blake started to cut more, on both his arms, but still Stiles refused to respond. His face growing darker, Blake sliced Stiles' chest right through his t-shirt. Stiles groaned, but clenched his teeth together to keep from screaming.

"Scream," Blake hissed, slicing Stiles' chest again and again and again.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking from them, and shook his head. But the blood loss, combined with his earlier injuries, was starting to get to him, and he was afraid that he was going to pass out soon.

"I'm going to kill you," Blake growled, "but not now. I'm going to wait until Scott gets here. And then I'm going to kill you both."

"Please," Stiles gasped, eyes opening, trying one last time to make Blake understand.

But Blake just raised his blade, grinned, and drove the point into Stiles' left thigh.

Finally, covered in bruises, bleeding from his chest, arms, and legs, vision going dark, Stiles screamed.

…

Scott woke up with a start, unsure why he was suddenly wide awake. He looked at the clock and saw that it was already ten o'clock, meaning he had slept for almost 16 hours.

Jumping out of bed and stretching, Scott decided that he might as well go to Derek's place right away. The older werewolf was probably awake, and Scott didn't want to wait any longer than he had to.

Pulling on some clothes, Scott was out the door and running to Derek's loft within minutes, arriving at the door minutes later.

"Derek!" he shouted, banging on the door. "Derek, I need your help!"

The door was pushed open, revealing a very annoyed looking Derek Hale. For a moment, he looked like he had when Scott had first met him—dark, brooding, uncaring. But then Derek seemed to realize that something was wrong, and his expression softened slightly. "Scott," he said slowly, taking in Scott's messy hair, messy clothes, and frantic eyes. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "What's going on?"

"It's Stiles," Scott panted. "He was kidnapped by a slightly psychopathic guy who wants to sacrifice me in order to save his little sister from turning into a werewolf."

The eyebrow rose higher, and Derek stepped back, inviting Scott in. "Well, that certainly sounds like a problem," Derek responded. "Want to give me a little more information than that?"

Scott took a deep breath and nodded, following Derek into the room. "Right. Well it started on Friday night, when Stiles called me and…"

Suddenly Scott felt a sharp pain in his left leg. He gasped, grabbing his thigh where it felt like he had just been shot or stabbed.

"Scott?" Derek asked, stepping closer with worry written all over his face.

Almost as quickly as it had come, the pain faded. Scott moved his hands, staring at his leg. There was nothing there. No wound, no blood, no knife, no bullet, nothing. He looked up at Derek, eyes wide. "I… I could've sworn I just got stabbed in the leg."

Derek's face was dark, as if he knew exactly what had just happened. "An alpha," he said cautiously, "is sometimes able to feel the pain that a member of his pack is feeling."

Suddenly, Scott remembered the day, months ago, when he had brought Malia out of her coyote form. He had felt a sudden pain in his foot, seemingly for no reason, and had only learned later that Isaac had gotten his foot caught in a trap at the same time Scott had felt the pain.

Scott felt faint. "Stiles is in my pack," he whispered, looking at Derek, terrified that he was right.

"I'm sorry, Scott," Derek responded quietly, looking sympathetic.

"No," Scott said, eyes hardening. "No, he may be hurt, but it's not over. He's not dead." He glared at Derek as if looking for the older werewolf to challenge him. "I would know if he was dead."

Derek almost smiled. "Well then," he responded, eyes glowing blue, "Let's go save him."

...

Stiles was drifting. Everything hurt- his arms, his face, his chest, his leg. It felt like a fire was ripping through his body, tearing him apart from the inside. The pain was all that existed.

Then there was a voice. The voice was harsh, cold, and made the pain even worse. Stiles couldn't make out what was being said, but he didn't need to. He knew that no one was going to help him, no one was going to make the pain go away. It was just him, the pain, and that cold voice.

He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't hear, couldn't think of anything except for the pain.

And a name. A name that was his only hope, the only thing that he could hang onto, the only thing that kept him fighting through the pain.

 _Scott._

…

Scott wanted to leave Derek's loft and go to Stiles immediately, but Derek made him stop. They needed a plan. They couldn't run in blindly or it would end even worse for Stiles.

"You go in first," Derek said, "pretend that you've made your decision. Stiles might be there, and it might look bad, but you need to stay calm."

Scott swallowed. "What if he's snapped and tries to kill us both though?" he asked, already hating the plan.

Derek smiled tightly. "I'll be right outside. If talking to him doesn't work, and it probably won't, just howl. Once I come in, your job will be to save Stiles. I'll handle Blake. Sound good?"

It didn't, but Scott nodded anyway. He could tell what Derek was doing- by making Scott in charge of Stiles, he was making sure that Scott wouldn't get out of control. If he was in charge of his best friend's life, he would be careful.

Suddenly Scott thought of something. "If Blake _has_ snapped, how will you… What will you do with him?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Derek's face grew dark. "If he's hurt part of your… _our_ pack, I'll do what needs to be done."

"Derek…" Scott started, not liking the sound of that at all.

Derek cut him off before he could finish. "We should go, Scott," he said harshly. "From the sounds of it, we should get there sooner rather than later."

"Alright," Scott responded, still not completely happy with the plan, "let's run."

…

"Stiles."

It was that cold voice again, but now Stiles could understand the words piercing through the fog.

"Stiles. Time to open your eyes."

He didn't want to open his eyes. The pain had faded a little, and he was afraid that if he woke up fully, it would come back.

" _Stiles!_ "

Stiles flinched as the voice became a shout. He didn't want to wake up, didn't want to come back to reality, didn't want to come back to the pain.

"I know you're awake, Stiles. Open your eyes."

He kept them shut, trying to hold onto the fog for just a little longer. Just a little…

But then there was new pain, on his previously uninjured leg, and Stiles opened his eyes with a gasp. Just like that, all the pain and all the memories came roaring back. He could feel everything- the bruises on his face, stomach and arms. The cuts on his arms and chest. The stab wounds on his arm and leg. And the new pain on his other leg, a deep cut in his thigh.

And Blake was standing there, knife bloodied, smiling down at him. "Ah, Stiles," he said, "I was beginning to worry that I had overdone it and killed you too soon."

Stiles couldn't speak. He knew that he was dying. He felt weak from the blood loss, and he could hardly keep his eyes open. Death, over the years, had become normal to him, but he still never considered it happening to him. And he was terrified, not just for himself, but for Scott. Stiles knew that even if Scott survived the day, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if Stiles died. He was still recovering from Allison, and if he lost Stiles too…

"Scotty will be here soon," Blake continued, and Stiles blinked, trying to focus. "He'll probably want to kill me when he sees you, but don't worry. I'll kill him first. Then, after you watch your best friend die, I'll kill you too."

"Please," Stiles managed, his voice quiet and weak, "not Scott."

Blake laughed. "I should have known. Trying to beg for his life, but not your own?"

"Please," Stiles gasped again, and it felt like he was using up all of his air.

"Save your breath," Blake scoffed. "You can't convince me of anything. And if Scott brings Derek Hale with him, well. Even better. But I'm assuming he'll be alone, since right now he still thinks that you are perfectly healthy. He won't be prepared for anything when he comes in the door, I promise you that."

Stiles knew that Blake was right. Scott would have no reason to expect violence- he was probably planning on giving himself up peacefully and saving Stiles without any bloodshed.

"Eyes open!" Blake shouted suddenly, and Stiles blinked, unaware that he had even closed them.

"Can't," Stiles mumbled, his eyes slipping closed again. The pain was starting to fade, and when the darkness came, Stiles welcomed it gladly.

 **A/N: If you've read any of my other stories, you'll know that I am not completely opposed to killing major characters... Will Stiles survive this time? Next chapter will be posted soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Bit of a shorter chapter this time. Only the epilogue is left! Warning for violence in this chapter too, still not super graphic.**

Scott had never been more terrified in his life. He was running alongside Derek, on his way to hopefully save his best friend's life. "Please be okay," he muttered as he ran, not caring that Derek could hear what he was saying.

"He'll be fine, Scott," Derek responded. "Stiles is tougher than he looks. You know that better than anyone."

Derek was right, and Scott knew it. Stiles was only human, but he had survived just as much, if not more, than the rest of them. He was best friends with a true alpha werewolf, and he fit right in with the rest of the pack. He had survived being possessed by a Japanese demon, and had even come out stronger. He would be okay.

He had to be okay.

"We're almost there," Derek said a few minutes later, and Scott saw the house in front of them. The house where Stiles was being kept, probably injured, maybe even…

"Scott," Derek said harshly, pulling Scott out of his thoughts. "You need to focus. It's going to be hard, but you need to stay in control. You won't be able to help Stiles if you can't control your power. Got it?"

Scott nodded, taking a deep breath. "Got it." He looked at the house now directly in front of them and tried to prepare himself. He could do this. He had to do this.

"Go," Derek said simply, and Scott went.

He approached the house slowly, pushing open the door, which squeaked when he entered. Slowly, slowly, he walked through the house to the door of the basement. Scott froze in front of the door, not wanting to find out what would be at the bottom. Last time he had gone down those stairs, only the day before, he had found his best friend with a knife to his throat. Now he was afraid that he would find something even worse.

Bracing himself for the worst, Scott pushed open the door and began to climb down the stairs. He knew from the previous day that he wouldn't be able to see into the room until he was about halfway down, so he moved quickly, wanting to see Stiles sooner rather than later. When Scott was finally able to see into the room, he froze.

"No," he gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. It felt like the entire world had fallen out from under him. In an instant, he felt empty, like he was missing something important that he didn't even know he had.

Stiles was in the same chair, still tied to it with rope. But this time, his head was slumped forward, resting on his chest. His face was covered in bruises, and so were his arms. But the worst part was the blood.

The scent of blood in the room was almost overwhelming, and all of it came from Stiles. His arms, his legs, his chest… Scott saw multiple cuts, especially on his arms and chest, and also noticed the stab wound in Stiles' leg that explained the phantom pain Scott had felt earlier.

Stiles looked dead, and probably was. With so much blood loss, Scott didn't know how he could still be alive.

Suddenly spurred to action, Scott ran down the rest of the stairs. He didn't have a plan anymore, he just knew that he had to get to Stiles. As he ran, he howled. It was a sound of true agony, a sound born of losing the person who means the most.

Because Scott realized in that moment what Stiles really meant to him. He was his best friend, his brother, his everything. And he knew that he didn't want to live in a world that Stiles wasn't a part of.

Suddenly, before Scott could reach Stiles, Blake stepped out of the shadows.

"Ah, Scott," he said, sounding relaxed, "I was hoping you would show up soon."

"Fuck off," Scott growled, struggling to stay in control. The wolf was rearing up, looking for the opportunity to kill the person who had killed a member of its pack.

Blake just chuckled darkly. "I'm sorry about Stiles, really. I was hoping that he would stay alive until you got here, but that's alright. We don't need him anymore."

Scott clenched his fist, feeling his claws digging into his palm. "Why did you kill him?" he asked, agonized. "He didn't need to be a part of this."

"Ah, but he was," Blake responded with a chilling smile. "You see, it was because of him that you hesitated. I don't know how, but he persuaded you to leave. And then, just yesterday, my sister killed herself because she couldn't stand the idea of being a monster." The smile slipped, and Blake's face darkened. For an instant, he looked like the man he really was- a man willing to kill teenagers. "If it hadn't been for Stiles' intervention, you would have agreed to my demands and she would still be alive today."

Scott swallowed. Knowing that Blake's sister had killed herself made it obvious that Blake had snapped. "So why do you need me now?" he asked, trying to stay in control. He could still prevent more bloodshed.

But just as Blake opened his mouth to reply, Derek Hale burst into the room.

For a moment, Scott had forgotten what the plan was. He had been so caught up in grief and hatred and overwhelming emotion that the howl had been ripped out of him- he had forgotten that it would also call Derek.

In one leap, the older werewolf was down the stairs and standing at Scott's side. Scott heard Derek's heartbeat stutter as he saw Stiles, but Derek was in perfect control in only seconds.

Derek's eyes flipped to Scott for a moment, and then back to Blake. "He's alive, Scott," Derek said quietly, so that only Scott could hear. "Listen."

For the second time since arriving in the house, Scott stopped breathing. Alive? There was no way Stiles could be alive. But if Derek said he was… Scott strained his ears, listening for heartbeats. There was his, and he recognized Derek's, and another that had to be Blake. And then, when he listened even harder, Scott heard a fourth heartbeat. It was sluggish and wrong, but it was there. Stiles was alive.

"You've made a mistake," Derek was saying calmly, staring right at Blake. "If you had really done your research, you would know that a werewolf will do anything to protect its pack. Scott may be the alpha now, but I am part of his pack." He paused, glancing at Stiles, who was completely still in the chair. "And so is Stiles," he finished, and then he lunged.

For a moment, Scott was frozen. But then he remembered what Derek had said before they left- Scott's responsibility was Stiles, and only Stiles. So when Derek lunged for Blake, Scott did the same for Stiles. Scrambling, he grasped at the ropes holding his brother to the chair. He could hear Derek growling and Blake shouting behind him, but he ignored that. He needed to get Stiles free. While he worked, Scott let his hands brush over Stiles' bloody skin. He was hoping to ease some of the pain, but to his horror, there was nothing for him to take.

In an instant, Scott was transported back to the day Allison had died. He had tried to take her pain that day, but she hadn't felt any.

Scott knew that Stiles was dying, just as Allison had been. He wasn't dead yet, but he would be soon. Very soon.

Just as he pulled the last rope free, Scott heard a scream. He jumped up and turned around, terrified to see what would be in front of him.

Derek's was bleeding slowly from a few cuts on his arms and chest, but those were already starting to heal. But his hand, his claws, were thrust into Blake's stomach.

"DEREK!" Scott screamed, running forward.

Before Scott could reach him, Derek removed his hand and Blake slumped bonelessly to the ground. Derek turned to face Scott, eyes blazing blue. "It's over, Scott," he said calmly, blood dripping from his hand. "He's not going to hurt you or Stiles again."

Scott felt sick. He hadn't wanted this. He never wanted these things to end in blood, never wanted them to end in violence, never wanted them to end in death. "You didn't have to… you didn't have to kill him," he said, quietly.

Derek looked at him intently for a moment, and then replied, "Yes, I did. A guy like him… He wouldn't have been okay with letting you both go. Especially Stiles. He was so close to killing Stiles, he wouldn't stop until he was dead. It would have driven him even more insane than he already was, knowing that he was so close."

"Stiles might still die," Scott responded, feeling like all his strength had left. He felt empty. He knew that he needed to get help, needed to do something about Blake's body, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. Derek was looking at him with compassion, eyes back to their normal color. "Call you mom," he said softly. "Tell her that Stiles needs to get to a hospital immediately. I'll call Chris. He can figure out how to clean this up." Derek dropped his hand, turning his gaze to Stiles. "He'll be okay," he added, as if he was trying to reassure himself.

Scott swallowed and nodded, his eyes stinging, and pulled out his phone.

It was over.


	6. Epilogue

**A/N: Here it is, the final chapter! Time to wrap everything up. Thanks to ScarletBrokenArrow, DrewSb, lovestowrite238, lenail125, 1monster2, and Shadow-wolf78 for reviewing, it really means a lot to me! Hope you enjoy the epilogue :)**

Scott wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He had been sitting in the waiting room of the hospital on a hard plastic chair for three hours, and he didn't know any more than he had earlier.

Stiles had been taken into emergency surgery as soon as they had arrived at the hospital, surrounded by doctors saying terrifying phrases like "going into shock," "too much blood loss," "internal damage." For a moment, Scott had thought the worst was going to happen when one doctor shouted, "We're losing him!"

But then Stiles was taken away, and Scott still didn't know if he was going to be okay.

Finally, just as Scott was beginning to think that he would never know anything, his mother stepped into the room. She looked exhausted, her hair was frizzy, her hospital scrubs were wrinkled, but she was smiling.

Scott stood up immediately. "Mom," he breathed, and then he ran to her. He felt like a little kid again, needing the reassurance of a hug from his mom, but he didn't care. He had almost lost his best friend forever.

She held him tight for a minute, and even when Scott let go, she kept a hand on his shoulder. "He's going to be okay, Scott," she said softly. "He just got out of surgery. He won't wake up for a few more hours, they're trying to replenish some of the blood he lost, but he's okay. He'll have to stay in the hospital for a while to make sure none of the cuts get infected, but he's stable right now."

Scott staggered into his chair again, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Stiles was going to be okay. He knew it was going to be hard for both of them to get through this, but he also knew that they would get through it. Together, they could get through anything.

"Can I see him?" he asked, looking up at his mom hopefully.

She smiled, ruffling his hair. "Of course. Like I said, he'll be asleep for a few hours, but I'm sure he'll feel better if you're there when he wakes up." Holding out a hand, she helped Scott stand again. "Come on. I'll take you to his room."

…

Stiles was drifting again. Everything was hazy, dull, empty. He didn't know what had happened to him, didn't know why he was in this quiet darkness, but he did know that he didn't want to leave it. He had a feeling that outside of the darkness was pain and suffering and sadness.

He didn't know how long he had been in the emptiness when suddenly there was a voice. A voice piercing the haze, lighting up the darkness.

He remembered another voice, one that had made him feel cold and afraid, but this voice was the opposite. This voice made him feel safe and warm. This voice promised comfort, promised friendship, promised happiness.

And it was telling him to wake up.

Stiles didn't want to wake up, but he wanted to go to the voice. He wanted that warmth, was tired of staying in the darkness and the quiet. So with a massive struggle, Stiles pulled himself out of the haze and into the light.

"-sorry, really. I didn't want this to happen, Stiles. This was never supposed to happen to you. So please, just wake up. Wake up and tell me you're okay. Please."

"M okay," Stiles mumbled, blinking his eyes open.

He was in the hospital. He was lying in a bed, covered by stark white sheets, and there was an IV in his left arm. There were bandages all over his arms, and he could feel them on his chest and legs too.

And sitting in the plastic chair next to his bed, looking like he hadn't slept in days, was Scott McCall.

"You look like crap," Stiles said, smiling a little.

Scott laughed, seemingly surprised. "Have you looked at yourself recently?" he responded, grinning.

Stiles just shook his head, taking the opportunity to really look at his best friend. Scott was smiling, but his eyes were sad. Even his laugh had sounded a bit forced. "Hey, you okay?" Stiles asked, voice soft.

Scott's smile dropped. "Am _I_ okay? Seriously? Stiles, you almost died! I thought you were dead!"

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but Scott cut him off, sounding almost frantic.

"No," he said, "let me finish. It's because of me that you're lying here. It's because I wasn't strong enough to take care of Blake that he almost killed you. Even when I thought you were dead, I couldn't do it. Derek's the one who really saved you, okay? Not me. I couldn't do anything." Scott stopped speaking suddenly, dropping his head and holding it in his hands.

Stiles knew that he needed to convince Scott that he hadn't failed, but something else had caught his attention. "What do you mean, take care of Blake? Where is he?" he asked, suddenly realizing how terrified he was that Blake was going to come back for him.

Scott lifted his head and responded quietly, "He's dead, Stiles. Derek killed him."

For a moment, Stiles stopped breathing. That was it, then? Just like that, it was over? Just like that, Blake wasn't a problem anymore?

But that wasn't the most important thing here. "Scott," Stiles said, making sure his voice was strong, "none of this was your fault. Everything that happened is on Blake. Definitely not on you."

Scott smiled a little at that, and it didn't seem forced this time. "As long as you're okay, I don't really care whose fault it is," he responded.

Suddenly, Stiles yawned. He hadn't really realized how tired he was until that moment. "How long was I asleep?" he asked, yawning again.

Scott laughed a little. "Since you got to the hospital? 10 hours. We're not sure how long you were unconscious before we got to you, though," he answered. "But you did just come out of emergency surgery six hours ago, so I don't think anyone will blame you if you want to sleep a little longer."

Stiles smiled, feeling sleep coming on quickly. "Thanks, Scott," he mumbled, eyes already shutting.

"I'll be here when you wake up," Scott responded quietly, and Stiles fell asleep feeling completely safe for the first time in days.

...

 _ **One month later**_

"Stiles, slow down."

"Scott, I'm fine! You heard the doctors- they said I'm pretty much back to normal."

"Yeah, and they also said you should take it easy for a few weeks. I don't think this counts as taking it easy."

"It's kind of hard to take it easy while you're searching for the latest supernatural evil creature in the middle of the woods at one o'clock in the morning, Scott."

Scott laughed. Stiles was right. With the lives they led, 'taking it easy' was kind of impossible.

"Seriously though, I'm okay," Stiles said softly, turning around to face Scott. "Besides," he continued, grinning, "Nothing will happen to me while my badass true alpha best friend is around, right?"

Scott just smiled in response. Stiles was right. They were okay.

As long as they were together, they would always be okay.

 **A/N: Well, there you have it. My first multi-chapter story, finally finished! I hope you all enjoyed, and you can expect more Teen Wolf stories from me in the future! Also check out my ao3 account (ladybug114) as I have some stories posted there that aren't on here!**


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